


Stay With Me

by SuperOreoMan



Series: Songfics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angstfest, Kinda, M/M, Merry fucking Christmas, Sociopathic Sherlock, Songfic, but like he's not evil it's just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperOreoMan/pseuds/SuperOreoMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sherlock didn’t love John. He couldn’t. He wasn’t capable. John told himself he’d come to terms with that, that he could accept it, but he was lying to himself.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Inspired by Sam Smith's "Stay With Me"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> First installment of my Christmas advent. Couple days late but my computer was being a butt. 
> 
> [Here's the song.](http://youtu.be/-rC8RRXcfeo)
> 
> They just had sex. This is the aftermath.

“Sherlock,” John called softly from where he lay, extending a hand to rest over his. A glance over Sherlock’s bare shoulder was the only acknowledgement John received. They’d only just caught their breath again, and Sherlock was already perched at the edge of the bed, reaching for his robe. John reached out again, this time to take Sherlock’s hand.

“Stay,” he murmured, bringing the hand to his lips. His eyes were fixed on the contour of Sherlock’s cheekbone—the most he could see of his face with Sherlock’s gaze averted. “Stay with me?” he repeated, though this time it came out more as a question.

John tried not to be disappointed at Sherlock’s quick, dismissive, “Can’t.” He tried not to look as devastated as he felt. Tried to ignore how much that _hurt._

It was always like this—John should know better by now. It was always this way. It was always just sex, then go. Sate the need, and move on. John liked to think that Sherlock loved him. He _wanted_ Sherlock to love him, the way John loved Sherlock. But what they had....this wasn’t love.

Sherlock didn’t love John. He couldn’t. He wasn’t capable. John told himself he’d come to terms with that, that he could accept it, but he was lying to himself.

John loved Sherlock desperately; a love that couldn’t be returned. Sherlock was just incapable of that kind of emotional attachment. John thought he could change that, that he could fix it—that Sherlock’s self-declaration of being a high-functioning sociopath was just a guise, or some kind of wall he’d put up, one that John could break down after time and work. And that was the most painful part, that John strove to mend something that was unfixable. Over and over.

John was in denial. He was only human; he was just a man. He only wanted what would be a reasonable request, but they were done with sex, so Sherlock didn’t see the need to stay. He didn’t understand the point. He couldn’t.

“Wait.”

To John’s relief, Sherlock stopped in the doorway, looking at him expectantly. John swallowed, tried not to let himself tremble, or let his voice waver.

“Sherlock. Please. Just this once.”

Sherlock stared at him, expression unreadable, for a long moment. Long enough that John dared to hope that _maybe_ —

And then his detached gaze was fixed on a point out the door, on something John couldn’t see.

“I’m sorry. I can’t, John.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all.

John’s face fell. God, why did this make him so emotional? He’d come to expect it, but....

“Just...just lay with me....” he plead again, but he looked up to find Sherlock was already gone.

John didn’t know how long he sat there, the tight pressure of _hurt_ lodged in his throat, the burn in his eyes he blinked stubbornly against, the bed unforgiving and cold. Alone.

“...so it doesn’t hurt.” John whispered into the cold, empty room.


End file.
